The Deity Project
by Naruana
Summary: After the complete destruction of Earth, humanity must learn to live with the Na'vi. But some would rather rule than coexist...
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_1_

_The End of All Things_

The RDA's exile from Pandora struck a fatal blow against humanity. In a world that was already being kept alive purely by the willpower and machinations of its inhabitants, the loss of such a potent source of power as Unobtanium rendered Earth completely useless. The factories that synthesized 98% of the world's edible food supply eventually ran down and died; massive atmospheric converters that had once made the rancid air just barely breathable could no longer maintain power. In the end, death was largely preferable to life on Earth.

Who was to blame for such a catastrophe? Much of the public pointed the finger at the fallen RDA; if only they had gained the trust of the Na'vi instead of all-out war, perhaps a deal could have been worked out. Those in the know cursed the name of Jake Sully, declaring him the worst traitor to human kind in all of history. Only a few blamed themselves. If only humanity had slowed its reckless charge towards technological advancement, taking a moment to consider the effects on the only home they had! If we had all been more conscious of what we were doing to our life provider, perhaps things would be different…

In the end, when only 10% of humanity still clung to life, there was but one choice. One final chance to keep our species alive. Earth had been one of just two inhabitable planets known to mankind; now it was a toxic hell. Only one bastion of life remained. One final refuge. If we were to have any chance, the last surviving humans would need to return to Pandora and throw themselves to the mercy of the Na'vi…

_2_

_An Indecent Proposal_

Nathanial Ransom stood on the eastern wall of Arkham's Folly, gazing out over the endless golden plains nearly 200 feet below. As the sun descended toward the horizon, lighting the air on fire, he felt an almost uncontrollable thrill of fear run through him, stealing his breath. As his chest tightened he raised the inhaler to his lips and pulled the trigger, sending a cool blast into his lungs. His esophagus widened and his breathing returned to normal. Some had adapted to Pandora's toxic air, others had received genetic modifications; Nate was stuck with a crappy set of lungs and an inhaler the size of a soda can. But it wasn't just the air that had caused his asthma to act up…

Nate reached a hand into his coat pocket and brushed the small, soft box with a finger. Again his nerves jumped. Inside the box, he knew, was a ring. Nothing very expensive; a small loop of silver set with an attractive but cheap gemstone that was fairly common on Pandora. Still, it wasn't the price that mattered; it was what the ring meant. Or rather, what he was hoping it would mean.

"Nate!"

He turned towards the melodic voice, heart leaping. A golden-haired woman in a red coat was struggling through the crowd towards him. Nate grinned, gripping the box in his pocket. He was too distracted by how the setting sun glinted off her flowing hair, or how gracefully she weaved her way towards him, to notice the small frown creasing her forehead, or how she was biting her lip slightly, as she did when anxious.

They met, and Nate threw his arms around her. The sweet flowery smell of her hair flooded his nostrils.

"You're late, Allie," he muttered into her ear. She uttered a short, forced laugh. This time Nate did take notice. He broke the embrace, hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length.

"Is something wrong?"

_Of course there is,_ she said. Not with her voice, but with the way she tucked her hair behind one ear, or how her head was tilted slightly to one side, or how she shuffled slightly from one foot to the other.

"No," Alice said, "I'm fine." Then that beautiful smile lit up her face, and if Nate hadn't noticed them himself, he would have sworn her tells had never been there.

Suddenly aware of how many people there were on the observation walkway, Nate placed an arm around her shoulders and led Alice towards a more secluded spot along the wall. For a moment they simply stood side by side, observing a natural beauty that had not been seen on their native world in centuries. A herd of direhorses pushed through the long grass, the rumble of their feet like distant thunder. A far-off banshee was silhouetted against the fiery disc of the sun. Combined with the ghostly giant, Polyphemus, hanging in the sky, the sight had a lonely feel to it.

"So what's this all about?" Alice asked, breaking the silence. The question was casual, but again Nate sensed something behind it.

"What? Can't I meet a pretty lady in a pretty spot without having an ulterior motive?"

She didn't call him a schmuck, but the look she gave him did. Nate laughed.

"Alright," he said, fighting down the return of his abdominal butterflies. "I thought maybe we should talk."

Alice stiffened next to him. "Actually," she said softly, "so do I…"

Nate raised an eyebrow. Now what was this about? "Can I go first?"

She looked up at him (_sadly she looks sad why?_) and nodded. "Sure."

Nate took a deep breath. He had rehearsed this moment over and over in his head; why couldn't he remember how to start now?

"Alice…" He cleared his throat. "Being with you for the past year has been the best experience of my life." _God that sounds horrible._ "Every day has been like a dream, and…um…"

She was looking up at him, head tilted, eyebrows slowly rising. Nate rubbed his neck and soldiered on. "You're–ah– you're the one thing I can't imagine living without, and…er…"

_Oh shit._

With a horrible sinking feeling he realized how horribly everything was going. He was blathering like an idiot, and even the damn sunset was ruined. Instead of beautiful, he just found its glare annoying. He gripped the small jewelry box and made a split-second decision, whipping it out of his pocket. At the same time his left leg gave out, whether from sheer terror or from his own subconscious trying to salvage the situation, and he fell down onto one knee.

He held the box out to Alice, opening it to reveal the modest but beautiful ring. "Alicewillyoumarryme?" he blurted breathlessly.

She stared down at him, dumbfounded. Her eyes jumped from the ring, glinting in the failing daylight, to Nate, kneeling and panting slightly, a horrible expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace plastered on his face. Then, she burst into tears.

_Is this good or bad?_

Face buried in her hands, Alice turned away from him, sobbing. Alarmed, Nate leapt to his feet and placed an arm around her, ignoring the curious gaze of the bystanders.

"A-Alice?" he said weakly.

She turned to him, face wet, eyes red. "I'm s-sorry, Nate," she said between shuddering gasps. "But I-I can't."

His heart shriveled into a black hole, his guts flooding with acid. His very soul iced over, and all beauty faded from his world. He thought he handled it pretty well, considering.

"Oh," he said, trying to look anywhere but at Alice. "Ok…"

She grabbed his hands. "It's not that I don't want to!" A fire exploded in his chest, but she quickly stomped it out. "I just…can't…"

"But…_why?_" he choked desperately, and a little lamely.

She gripped his hands tighter, looking up into his face. "I was going to tell you today," she said softly. "I've joined the Hometree Initiative."

For a moment, silence, as Nate tried to process this new information. Then–

"_The tree huggers?_"

Alice simply nodded, as though he had not just yelled loud enough to cause the growing crowd of spectators to jump. "I've been meaning to for some time," she said, speaking in a rush, as though afraid he wouldn't let her explain. "And it's a really important effort. Tensions are getting higher every day! If we don't employ diplomacy there could be another war!"

Nate's face was blank. "When do you leave?" he asked tonelessly.

Alice drew a deep breath. "Tomorrow."

"For how long?"

She released his hands, clasping her own to her breast. In barely a whisper, she said, "Two years."

Nate said nothing. He didn't shout, he didn't cry, he didn't even glower. He simply shoved the jewelry box into her hands, turned, and began to walk away.

"Wait!"

He knew she was following him. Probably running, maybe tears streaming down her face. He knew she would grab his coat, and a moment later she did.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "Please, you have to understand–"

Nate didn't tell her just how well he understood. He didn't say that she should have talked to him about it first. He simply walked away.

_3_

_The Final Lesson_

The sun had all but disappeared beneath the horizon. The sky was dark, save for the pale glow of Polyphemus. The only sounds were those of the wind sighing through the prairie grass, the movement creating a glowing ripple-like effect, and the soft gurgle of a stream, also aglow with bioluminescence.

A lone hexapede, separated from its herd, cautiously approached the glowing ribbon of water. Its head darted back and forth, large eyes wide in the near-darkness, its blue skin seeming black. At the river bank it paused, head fan fluttering in the breeze, its beard-like membrane twitching slightly. Its nostrils flared. Then, slowly, slowly, it lowered its head, peeled back its bifurcated lips, and began to drink. It paused every few seconds, head darting up to search for predators.

A tall, thin shape rose from the grass mere feet away, sending out ripples of light. In one fluid motion it raised a large bow, arm already drawn back, and released the arrow. It whistled through the air, piercing the hexapede clean through the heart before it had a chance to turn and flee. The beast fell to the ground, dead, without a cry.

The hunter, on the other hand, let loose a shriek of excitement and leapt through the grass towards its kill, long _queue_ trailing behind. She knelt down beside it, placing a hand on the still-warm body. Closing her eyes, she began to speak softly under her breath, thanking the animal for its sacrifice.

She sensed the other standing beside her before she opened her eyes, although he had made no sound. She looked up at the towering figure, the pale night light illuminating a grin of exhilaration on her face. The man extended a hand. She took it, and without a word he pulled her up into an embrace.

"Well done, '_ite!_" he said warmly. "Your first successful hunt." He indicated the large ceremonial bow hanging at her side. "You have certainly earned it."

Pamtseo beamed up at her father. She gave him another strong hug. "All thanks to your guidance, _sempul_," she said.

Her father snorted, waving away the remark. "Nonsense, _seze_. You are as great a hunter as your mother was. I was merely here to get in the way."

Pamtseo giggled, playfully hitting his shoulder. Then, at her father's indication, she knelt beside the dead hexapede. Drawing a large knife, she began to carefully skin the animal, its dark blood mingling with the bright water of the river. She worked slowly, sure not to damage any organs or tear the skin; everything could and would be used.

"Hmm…"

Pamtseo knew that grunt. She looked up at her father, afraid she had done something wrong, but he was paying no attention to her. His face, sometimes soft, now stern, was focused elsewhere, off into the distance. She followed his gaze; a glittering spire could be seen on the horizon.

"The _Tawtute_ disrupt the night with their shining city," he muttered softly. "After fifteen cycles they still have not learned."

Rising to stand beside her father, Pamtseo watched the shifting lights. It was as beautiful as it was alien. She bore no ill will towards the _Tawtute_; unlike her father, she had not been alive for the first war with their kind. And although it had embittered him, he was still more willing than others in their tribe to give the aliens a chance to learn how to live _with_ Eywa, not merely off her.

"Maybe they are afraid of the dark, _sempul_," Pamtseo said, only half-jokingly. Her father laughed, a great deep chuckle that rolled across the plains. It warmed her heart to hear it.

"Perhaps, _seze._ Perhaps. Now," he said, turning towards Pamtseo's kill, "let's finish the–"

He froze, only for an instant, staring at something in the darkness she was either too young or too dull to see. Then–

"_Ne kllte!_" he yelled, throwing her to the ground. In a blur he drew his bow, already fitted with three bone-tipped arrows, and aimed into the darkness. A moment later, a piece of the night broke away from the rest with a roar.

Pamtseo shrieked as the _palulukan_ leapt at her father. He ducked and it flew over both of them, landing several feet away from the river and Pamtseo's prone body. Its four thick legs were already tensed, ready to pounce again. She noticed three arrows protruding from its soft underbelly, yet it still stood. There was no sign of her father.

"_Sempul!_" she yelled, at the same drawing her own bow. The _palulukan_ bellowed at her, lips folded back to reveal massive black fangs. Pamtseo had barely a moment to wonder what it was doing so far from the forest before it charged. She let loose two arrows and had no time to see if they reached their mark before–

She was tackled from the side as her father threw her again from harm's way. Without a glance at her he charged the beast, knife in hand. At the last moment he leapt over its massive armored skull and landed on its back, driving his blade through the thick skin.

The _palulukan_ yowled and began to whip around violently, the grass flashing like lightning, attempting to throw him off as he stabbed it again and again. Pamtseo leapt to her feet and prepared to help.

"No!" he yelled over the beast's roars. "Go! _Tul!_"

She hesitated. Never before had she disobeyed her father; but she wasn't about to let him face such a challenge on his own. Blade in one hand she charged the bucking animal–

A massive paw connected with her head, sending her once again sprawling. She hit the ground but barely felt the impact. The night, already dark, was beginning to fade. She couldn't move. Slowly the sounds of the battle grew faint, as though retreating. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was the _palulukan_ rear up on its hind legs and fall backwards, her father still on its back…

_4_

_Field Test_

In a darkened room, hidden somewhere within Arkham's Folly, two men sat before a glowing display. They watched as the experiment played out, occasionally taking notes on their data pads. The video had no sound, but both men could hear the roars echoing in their skulls.

The experiment ended. One of the men reached forward and input several commands. A confirmation appeared on the display, and the video went dark. In a corner of the room, a grey coffin-like box emitted a hum, illuminated from within by pale corpse-light. Now, slowly, the humming stopped. The second man went over and opened the box, revealing a third man lying inside, dressed only in a grey undershirt and boxers.

"Sir?" said the standing man.

The one in the box opened his eyes. For a moment they appeared dazed, as though he was still lost in a dream, but quickly they focused. He removed some complicated headgear and sat up, bare feet on the cold floor.

"It works," he replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part I**

_1_

_A Brief History of Arkham's Folly_

It took just one Capital Star class Interstellar Vehicle, or ISV, to escort the last dregs of humanity, along with a minimal amount of usable resources, from their dying home. The true name of this ship has been lost in the very confused and hectic annals of history; the human inhabitants of Pandora simply know it today as the Ark. Funnily enough, the Ark departed from Earth under the command of one Elijah Arkham, a seasoned admiral of the RDA's private fleet. The responsibility of ferrying the last hope of our species to a new home fell upon Adm. Arkham simply because he was the only one both qualified and fool-hardy enough to attempt such an undertaking with what could very generously be called a skeleton crew under his command. But the admiral's titular folly does not refer to this particular gamble.

ISV's were designed solely to be piloted in the weightless vacuum of space. At just over a mile long and bristling with fragile equipment, any encounter with the lightest of winds, the smallest of debris, or the weakest of gravitational fields would surely tear the cruiser apart. And when the cruiser in question is housing not one but two antimatter generators, even the slightest of bumps would be a very bad idea. So it's understandable that under normal circumstances the very idea of landing an ISV on a planet of any sort would simply be out of the question. But landing the Ark on the face of Pandora was exactly what Adm. Arkham attempted to do.

At the end of the 6.75 year journey to Pandora the inhabitants of the Ark were faced with a dilemma: none of the shuttles, known as Valkyries, were operational. In an enormous blunder, the Ark's skimpy crew had simply forgotten to check the shuttles' fuel cells before entering cryosleep. Imagine their surprise when they awoke to find their only hope for salvation so close, and yet so very far away. After two weeks of orbiting Pandora, with rations running low and tempers running high, Adm. Arkham could think of only one solution: safely pilot the Ark onto the surface of the planet.

His plan was both straightforward and insane:

Step 1: Salvage as many useful parts from the Ark as possible. Should the Ark safely touchdown, the plan was to convert it into humanity's only home.

Step 2: Move all the inhabitants of the Ark into the habitation section of the ship, comprised of four large cylindrical modules, stacked end-to-end. Along with the entire crew, these modules had to hold all of the remaining resources.

Step 3: Detach the two antimatter generators to avoid a catastrophic explosion while entering Pandora's atmosphere. While simply letting them float off into space seemed like the safest idea, Arkham reminded everyone that should they survive the fall, two fully functioning antimatter generators would be an invaluable power source. For this reason it was decided to let them fall into the Equatorial Sea and hope for the best.

Step 4: With the Ark in just the right phase of its orbit of Pandora, detach the habitation cylinders from the rest of the ship, using small exterior charges to nudge it further into the planet's gravitational grip.

Step 5: Begin descent.

To the complete surprise of everyone, the plan went perfectly. The crew and its remaining resources fit into the habitation cylinders, if barely. The antimatter generators splashed down in the Equatorial Sea without rupturing and were later recovered for use. And Adm. Arkham, against all odds, managed to pilot what amounted to an unwieldy hunk of metal and advanced composites safely into the Great Plains of the Australis continent, with zero casualties and minimum damage. Arkham's name, as well as his audacity, was engraved in human history forever.

The refugees were greeted by the Na'vi first with suspicion, then with hostility, and finally, after a series of small skirmishes, uneasy friendship. Members of the Horse Clans of the Plain were the first to befriend the humans, aiding in the conversion of the habitation cylinders into a towering city flanked by the two antimatter generators, completely vertical to minimize its footprint on the environment. They instructed the humans on how to live _with_ the land, not simply _off_ it. Gradually human- Na'vi diplomatic relations increased. Only the Omaticaya and their legendary leader remained cold and distant to the aliens. And while both species currently coexist in peace, there are rumblings of unease, like distant thunder…

_2_

_A Very Important Date (3 Years Later)_

Nate was late. He knew this with a certainty as he awoke in total darkness, sprawled out on a bed much too large for just one occupant.

_Goddam smart-home._

His apartment had, once again, forgotten to wake him on time. This happened at least once a month, often resulting in a harried dash to work with mere seconds to spare. Usually he made it. _Usually._

However…

"Time," he mumbled through his arm, pillow, and a mouth that felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"_Ten-fifty-nine a.m.,_" his apartment chimed cheerily.

Nate flew out of bed in a tangle of sheets, flumping ungracefully to the floor. He leapt to his feet with a stream of expletives, which the apartment must have interpreted as a command. The large auto-tinting bay window went from solid black to crystal clear in exactly 0.003 seconds, filling the modest bedroom with harsh light and Nate's head with daggers.

He threw up his arm as his brain apparently exploded out of his temples. "_Darken!_" he practically sobbed. The window became more opaque, casting the room in cool shade. Nate gingerly lowered his arm and peered out into the city.

The view was quite spectacular, considering the rent. Arkham's Folly was basically a hollow spire, topping out at a staggering 2000 feet. When not suffering from a massive hangover Nate could gaze out from his bedroom, situated at the 500 foot mark, and straight across the Chasm to the opposite side of the curved wall, about 600 feet away. There he could see Automated Transit Units (ATU's) on their wall-mounted maglev tracks, zipping up, down, and around storefronts, apartments, and other establishments. Just two floors below him was Grace Park, one of seven large oval platforms stretched across the Chasm. A sparkling pool was situated in the center, surrounded by towering conifers and thick growths of ferns (the seven gardens were home to what few native Earth plants had been saved). If Nate were to lean against the convex window and tilt his head, he could see straight up to the open roof of Arkham's Folly, where massive turbines drew fresh air down into the city. It also allowed natural light to filter in, which was bounced back and forth by massive mirrors set in the walls to illuminate the depths of the Chasm (these panels flipped over at sunset to reveal bioluminescent lamps on the reverse side that glowed coolly at night).

Of course, Nate hadn't stuck around to enjoy the view. As soon as he was able to see he hurried across the room with the sort of blind panic only those who are ever a full hour late for work can truly appreciate. He was actually in the shower before he had fully removed his clothes, and only spent a brief minute rinsing himself. Then he was flying out of the shower, skidding and nearly breaking his neck. With one hand he dried his hair, and with the other he peeled back the flap of synthetic skin on his chest. With a clumsiness that would make his physician blow an artery he changed the filers grafted into his half-assed lungs. Then he was pulling on his uniform, out the door, and halfway down the curved hallway before sprinting back to grab his ID. After that Nate seemed to temporarily lose grasp of the concept of time: one moment he was hurtling through the apartment lobby, the next his ATU was plummeting to the depths of the Chasm. With a chime it came to a gradual stop and deposited Nate at one of the lowest and grimiest platforms in city.

"_Reactor Alpha, Employee Access,_" said a voice much too calm for Nate's taste. He hurried across the platform, jamming his cap over his rumpled hair and straightening his tie. When he came to the large door he raised his ID to it and, after a moment, was identified. The doors silently slid open, revealing a long, harshly-lit corridor bustling with other workers. Nate proceeded down it, trying not to look like a man who was inconceivably late.

A passing co-worker glanced up at him from the personal tablet he was tapping on, then did a double-take. "Nate? Jesus, we thought you'd really killed yourself this time!" Nate gave the stout man an ambiguous nod and hurried past him, but not without some parting words of wisdom: "Your ass is fired this time for sure!"

_Thanks, Captain Obvious. _Nate's mood had not improved by the time he reached the lobby to check in. He was also practically gasping for air. Skimping on lung maintenance didn't seem to be a good idea. He caught his breath at an open terminal, passing his ID over the reader to check in. The computer helpfully informed him he was one hour and ten minutes late. Then, just as he was turning away, a loud squawk sounded, and this ominous message appeared on the screen in bold red letters:

REPORT TO SUPERVISOR FOR MANDATORY BERATEMENT

_Aw, hell. _Most supers were an unpleasant lot, but Nate's boss excelled in being a hard-ass. Being the head of Security Team Delta seemed to warrant not only a God-complex, but the clichéd cigar-chomping attitude of some apoplectic police commissioner from an old Earth vid. So it was with a growing feeling of doom that Nate took the lift up two floors and found himself before a door. On its frosted window was printed, it block letters:

COMMANDER RUSSELL FLANAGAN

Δ

_Deep breath. _Nate raised a fist to knock, but had barely touched the door when it was pulled ferociously open and a burning red face bellowed into the hallway, "_GODDAMMIT CATHY YOU GET THAT SONOFABITCH RANSOM IN HERE RIGHT NOW OR IT'S YOUR ASS TOO!"_

Cathy, seated at a desk behind Nate, didn't even look up from her nails as she applied lime-green polish.

Commander Flanagan opened his mouth to chew her out a second time, then caught site of Nate barely two feet from his face, apparently for the first time. With the look of a man passing a kidney stone Flanagan turned around, strode to the large chair behind his desk, and dropped his huge frame into it. He pointed one quivering finger at the chair opposite him. Without a word Nate entered the office and seated himself.

A very tense moment of silence followed, seeming to stretch into infinity as the Commander closed his eyes to fight some internal battle, and Nate tried not to throw up. His hang-over was coming back.

Finally the standoff was broken. Flanagan let out a sigh that sounded like high-pressure steam escaping, which eventually evolved into a drawn-out word. "_Sssssssssonofabitch._"

"Yes, sir." Nate said automatically. He wasn't trying to be cheeky, but that didn't stop Flanagan. He opened his mouth, presumably to begin shouting again, but at the last second pulled a fat cigar out of nowhere like a magician and started chomping furiously on it. Nate wondered if his name was inscribed on the cigar.

"You're a real piece of work, Ransom," Flanagan muttered around the cigar. He pulled it out of his mouth and pointed the soggy end at Nate. "It's shit-lickers like you that make a job like this so damn unpleasant."

_Shit-lickers?_ "Sir, if I could just explain," Nate began.

"_NO YOU GODDAMN WELL CANNOT!" _Flanagan roared, his mustache fluttering. He had practically vaulted the desk in his fury. Now he settled back, taking a deep breath. He resumed chewing the cigar, thick neck muscles working like steel cables.

"Not only is this your fifth time being late this quarter," he said with deadly calm, "it's your _second time_ being _this goddamn late!_"

Nate tried to appear remorseful, but it was a difficult feat to accomplish with a pounding head and a heaving stomach. "Sir," he said in a quietly cowed tone, "I realize that my performance lately has been, well, abysmal."

"Damn right," came the grunted reply.

Nate nodded emphatically. "And I know I don't deserve any second chances."

"More like fourth chances."

"Yes, sir. But…well, I'm asking you for one. Just one more chance." He finished with a sigh and dropped his hands, as though the whole situation was hopeless (and it probably was).

Flanagan said nothing. Instead he watched Nate through squinted beady eyes, apparently seeing right through him. Nate bit his tongue, feeling his world slowly fall away. He had managed to hold this job for nearly three years, but now it was over. He would be emptying his locker in two minutes, and then what? Where could he work?

Abruptly, Flanagan said, "Are you on something, Ransom?"

Nate gaped at him, taken aback. Not because the accusation was so outlandish, but because it was so on target. He had been given prescription painkillers after his lung surgery, but had continued taking them long after the scars had healed. Some wounds wouldn't heal; some pain wouldn't go away…

"Aw, fuck it," Flanagan said suddenly. "I don't give a damn about you or your personal life, Ransom." He said it with the air of one announcing he doesn't care for a type of cheese. The Commander leaned forward and pointed a finger into Nate's shell-shocked face. "You know what I do care about?"

Nate jerkily shook his head.

"This," Flanagan said helpfully, sweeping an arm around to encompass the whole office. "This job, this facility, this city, this _whole goddamn human race._" He thumped a beefy fist on his desk. "Do you realize what a breach of security could mean? Not that some drugged-up asshole should never have been hired in the first place, no. It could mean the end of our entire species."

Nate thought this was quite a bit of melodrama, but Flanagan continued. "If some crazy came in here and sabotaged things, the whole city could shut down. Worse, if one of those blue-skinned _monkeys_ found their way in, they could blow up the whole goddamn reactor! The _anti-matter _reactor!"

Nate said nothing. Were the Na'vi really using bombs now? He hadn't been following the news lately. Too drunk or too stoned or too both. How bad were things getting?

"So no, I don't care about you or your problems. What I care about is security. Both in this facility, and in this city. That's all that matters." He said it with a strong air of finality.

Another thick, uncomfortable silence took hold of the office. Nate was afraid to speak, and the Commander seemed tired of it. Finally Nate half-raised himself from the chair, eyebrows raised slightly.

"Go finish your duties for the day," Flanagan said without looking at him, now focused on his computer. "I'll decide whether or not to fire you later."

Nate resisted the urge to run as he left the office.

As he patrolled an outer catwalk of Reactor Alpha, Arkham's Folly casting an immense shadow in the afternoon sun, Nate did something very rare: he considered Commander Flanagan's words.

_Drugged-up asshole._ Was that really what he had become? Nate would be the first to admit that things had been bad lately, real bad, but he hadn't lost sight of what was important, had he? Hell, at least he showed up to work. He could name three people off the top of his head that never showed up on certain days of the week. At least he _tried_ to come to work.

_Late. Drunk. On drugs._ The voice was small, nasty, but it wasn't lying. Today wasn't the first time he had come in on some sort of substance. It had just been particularly bad. His present tardiness arose from a night of solitary binge drinking and self medicating, all to celebrate the three-year anniversary of having his heart shit on. Was he so wrong for trying to dull the goddamn pain?

_Three years, though._

Alright, yes, it _had _been…a while. It wasn't like Nate hadn't moved on. He'd been with plenty of women since Alice Jordanes left his heart on the eastern wall. Not that any of them really meant anything…

Nate leaned against the railing with a sigh and stared out across the plain. The grass that wasn't caught in Arkham's shadow shone a bright gold in the sun. A light breeze could be heard rushing through the grass and the few trees of the Great Plains, further off but still immense. Several small specks that might have been banshees soared over the horizon. Everything was bright, vivid, alive…

_You know what I do care about?_

"The things that matter," Nate said quietly. Another patrolling guard gave him a funny look and hurried on her way.

A warm breeze rattled through the branches of the great _utral_ Pamtseo was perched in. She gazed intently at the glittering spire in the distance, her face set in a stony expression. It went a long way towards hiding the bubbles of fear she felt in her stomach, like a ball of squirming _teylu._ Months of careful planning and it all came to this. A few moments in which it could all be undone. She took a deep, steadying breath. No sense in falling apart now.

_Do not worry about what _could_ happen, _seze. _Concentrate on what _will.

The voice was her fathers, as strong as though he were right next to her. It came unexpectedly, out of a murky part of her mind she barely ventured. It brought tears to her eyes, but a strong resolve as well. Her father's words always had a way of steadying her fears. And she needed to be steady. Today was a very important day.

Pamtseo adjusted her bow so it was more comfortably slung across her back, as well as the other object. Bulky and cold, it felt strange against her skin. But it was the key to the mission. It had taken the _kewong_ long– almost too long– to build it, but without it the mission could not be finished. And she was the one who was going to finish it.

She glanced at the other two members of her _pongu _– the other _mun'i_ – and nodded once. "Ready?"

They both nodded back. "We are with you, _eyktan_."

_Then let's go._ One more steadying breath – then she dug her heels into the _ikran_ beneath her. It screeched in protest, but with a beat of its great leathery wings it dove off the branch.

"_Makto!_" Pamtseo yelled. The wind roared in her ears and the ground rushed up at her. She pulled hard on the reins and the _ikran_ followed suit, pulling up to skim the tall grass and starting an ascent, rising above the _utral._ She glanced back. The other two were following her, one on each side. Ahead, the towering city of the _Tawtute _grew slowly closer.

_They were actually doing this._

All at once a fountain of energy welled up somewhere in Pamtseo's stomach and burst through her mouth in the form of a wild call. The other two riders echoed her. It was the call of warriors, of ones who know they may be going to their own ends. It was the call of ones who have little left to lose.

All too soon, and yet not soon enough, they were circling over the spire, descending in a spiral towards one of the smaller towers that flanked it. As they dived a new sound cut through the air, an angry, whirring buzz. Not a natural sound. Pamtseo looked to see a _kunsìp _emerge from a hole in the spire. It was heading towards them.

Pamtseo didn't need to shout commands to her comrades. They knew what to do. Protect the _eyktan_ at all costs – nothing else mattered. With ululating screams they broke formation and swooped down on the _kunsìp_, hurtling spears and arrows. They bounced off the metal hide of the abomination, but that was fine. It gave Pamtseo the distraction she needed.

She leaned forward onto the neck of her _ikran_, sending them into a steep dive. They hurtled past the walls of the spire, and she could see crowds of _kewong _on the platforms, staring at her, gaping. Scared, maybe. She wanted to shout something at them, something they would remember, but she couldn't think of anything. So she simply screamed at them and continued her dive.

The smaller tower – the target– was almost directly beneath her now. She dived towards it, towards a walkway that went around it. A single _kewong_ was on the walkway, staring stupidly up at her. Pamtseo leapt off the _ikran_ and towards the walkway, and the _kewong_, with a fierce shriek.

_What the fuck?_

Nate wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. Three banshees had come out of nowhere and started – what, attacking the spire? Two of them had peeled once a Scorpion gunship had come out to investigate. The third continued in a different direction. Nate thought it might be heading towards Reactor Alpha.

Without warning the banshee, still far above, dove directly at him. It pulled up hard at the last moment, but not before a lithe, blue figure leapt off its back, screaming like a maniac–

_What the fu–_

Nate threw himself to the side as the Na'vi landed hard on the catwalk. It – she – sprang to her feet like a cat, bow in hand, one arrow already drawn. Aimed at him.

Without thinking he dropped onto his stomach. He heard the massive arrow whistle – could _feel_ it as it passed over him, ruffling his hair. A second later something else flew over him – the crazy Na'vi chick. By the time Nate got to his feet, she was sprinting down the walkway, around the curving wall. Something was slung over her shoulder. A strap, connected to something shiny. Something _metal._

_Worse, if one of those blue-skinned monkeys found their way in, they could blow up the whole goddamn reactor!_

Flanagan's fuming voice came out of nowhere, seemed to shatter a mental barrier.

"Oh shit…"

He took off down the catwalk, drawing his handgun as he want. He had already lost sight of the blue monkey…

Nate looked up. There she was, clambering up the outside of the reactor like it was one of their big-ass trees. Nate aimed, fired three times. The shots startled her, but they were wide, pinging off the metal.

_Lousy piece-of-crap guns._

Wondering how he was expected to do his job if he couldn't hit the broad side of the Hallelujah Mountains, Nate grabbed a pipe and hauled himself up. If one of _them_ could do it, so could he.

_I hope._

It was slow going. He had to stop every two seconds and look for a new handhold or foothold. Meanwhile, the Na'vi was climbing the damn thing like a ladder, easily outpacing him. She was already nearly to the top. Nate considered firing at her again, but with his luck the recoil would probably toss him off the side of the reactor. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the side of a ventilation unit and clambered onto it. A strong gust of wind threatened to tear him off.

Something caught his attention, from the corner of his eye. He turned to look – and his jaw dropped. The Scorpion was on fire and hurtling towards the reactor. It hit the side of the tower to his right, feet from him, with a deafening crash, exploding into an even larger fireball. The heat nearly threw him from his perch; bits of shrapnel tore at his uniform.

_Holy shit!_

The flaming wreck plummeted to the ground far below. Nate watched it fall, then peered up. He just caught a glimpse of two long, blue legs disappearing over the edge of the roof. Still half-marveling at how someone with a bow and arrow could take out a gunship, he resumed his climb.

Crouched over the large hole in the roof, Pamtseo let out a cry of frustration. How in the name of Eywa was she supposed to get this stupid _kewong_ contraption to work? It had been easy enough to pry the grate off the hole in the roof, but if she couldn't get this thing to work then it all would be for nothing.

She fumbled around with it, pressing the small colored buttons at random, her frustration growing. Her heart was pounding. It had been an act of foolish stupidity to attack that guard as she had. She could have remained on the _ikran_, attacked from there. Or just flown to the top of this tower. She'd probably be done by now.

"_Skxawng!_," she scolded herself.

As if in answer, a new voice shouted, "Stop!" Pamtseo whirled around. The guard was there, standing at the edge of the tower, clearly exhausted, but pointing one of their weapons at her.

"Drop the bomb!" he said in a voice that sounded both angry and scared. Pamtseo hadn't learned enough of their language to understand him, but she got the message.

Quick as a _lenay' ga_ she drew her bow and fired an arrow. It struck the _kewong_ in the shoulder, spinning him around with a spray of blood. He tottered off the edge.

_Now, back to business._

She crouched over the hole. It was wide, deep, and dark, but she could see something moving rapidly. Big flat blades of some kind. What was it she had been told this was? A "cooling vent"? Pamtseo didn't have a clue what that was, but she did grasp two key ideas: this hole was the weak spot of the tower, and those blades were moving very fast. Perhaps they would set off the useless device.

Pamtseo held it by the strap over the hole. It swayed there for a moment. Then, before she could reconsider, she let it go. The bulky object plummeted down the hole, bouncing off the sides before it hit one of the spinning blades with an unpleasant screeching sound.

_BOOM_

A jet of flame erupted from the hole, nearly burning her face off. She stumbled backwards. Was that it?

There was a second, quieter boom from somewhere below. This one shook the entire tower. Then another, and another. Soon the tower was trembling like a stalk in the wind. It was time to go.

She turned and ran to the edge of the tower. Raising her fingers to her lips she let out a piercing whistle. It was answered by a distant screech. Her _ikran_ flew towards her. She tensed, ready to jump. She didn't want to be here any longer than necessary.

The _ikran_ passed in front of her – Pamtseo leapt – and felt something tug at her ankle. She landed awkwardly on the creature's back, hanging by one leg and both arms around its neck. Her other leg hung off the _ikran_ – and from it hung a _kewong_. A large and bloody arrow was stuck in his shoulder.

Nate realized, as he was swinging from the leg of a Na'vi terrorist in the open air hundreds of feet off the ground, just what a stupid idea this had been. But he hadn't really thought about it. He had just acted.

The Na'vi was shouting gibberish at him, and the banshee seemed to be screeching at her. Nate issued a wordless roar at both of them. His gun was gone, he was losing blood, but they weren't getting away that easily.

Overcome by the weight of two passengers, the banshee banked hard through the air, circling the tower. Nate heard the explosions, the screech of buckling metal, felt the heat at his back. The bomb had gone off, but the reactor hadn't been ruptured. Otherwise, everything within a two-mile radius would be so much atomized dust.

A sudden fire erupted in his right arm and he cried out in pain. The damned Na'vi stabbed him! Her face was contorted with rage, but Nate saw fear too. He suddenly realized they weren't flying – they were falling, fast. Against his better judgment he looked down – and saw the ground hurtling up at him.

With nothing better to do, he reached up and grabbed the bow hanging off the Na'vi's back. His shoulder, and now his arm, burning, Nate hauled himself up onto the banshee, sitting behind the Na'vi as though they were riding partners. He fully expected to be shoved off, so he grabbed her tight around the waist. But apparently she had bigger problems. She pulled hard on a set of reins attached to the banshee, yanking them out of the dive. Some observational part of Nate frowned at that.

_I thought these guys were psychic or someth–_

The chatter of gunfire pulled him out of his musing. Another Scorpion gunship was hot on their tail, firing at them. Bullets whizzed through the air, much too close for comfort. Nate thought about waving, calling their attention to him, but his Na'vi pilot had other ideas. She yanked the reins and they flew upwards, hurtling through the air, going into a loop. Nate couldn't help it – he screamed. The ground, the Scorpion, and the burning reactor tower were now above him. At the peak of the loop the banshee turned right-side up and they hurtled towards Arkham, back the way the Scorpion had come.

_Nice flying,_ Nate thought begrudgingly.

They flew so close to the spire that he could have reached out and touched it. Instead he held tight to the Na'vi, who brought them fast around the curve of the walls. Nate could hear the Scorpion buzzing angrily behind them, but it didn't fire. They sped past a packed observation platform. The Scorpion pilot didn't want to hit any gawkers.

They were now on the opposite side of the spire and nearly half-way up it. The banshee went into a sudden dive, spiraling as it went. The Scorpion dove after them, and this time it wasn't afraid to fire. A splotch of red appeared in the Na'vi's shoulder, but Nate didn't hear her cry out. Instead she pulled them out of the dive and towards the tower of Reactor Beta. They went slingshotting around it so fast Nate thought he would be thrown off the banshee by sheer G-force. Instead they came up next to the Scorpion – it had pursued them, but they had lapped it. Nate could see into the cockpit, could see the stunned pilot stare at them. Then he saw his blue friend draw her bow. Before he could so much as shout she loosed an arrow. It broke through the cockpit window, hit the pilot in the head, and continued through the other window, taking his head with it. The Scorpion slammed into the side of the reactor, crumpled like a paper ball, and tumbled to the ground.

As they flew back around the reactor and passed Arkham's Folly once more, Nate realized he was in shock. He had lost a lot of blood and probably still had a hangover. But –looking back – he could see that Reactor Alpha was still there. Burning, but still there. Had he saved it? Saved the entire city?

Then, as he watched the shining spire of humanity grow further away, Nate realized he was being kidnapped.


End file.
